I (Won't) Remember
by PrettyPumpkin
Summary: They had been walking through non-magical London when Draco saw her. A muggle child standing with her parents outside a book store. She had brown frizzy hair and a book clutched against her chest. As if by instinct, Draco's eyes snagged on the girl and he smiled. That was all Narcissa remembered before the bite. (EWE, Dramione, veela)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It seems only fitting to start this story on Draco Malfoy's birthday-June 5. This is my first Dramione fic, so I would appreciate any feedback you guys have for me. I hope you enjoy this first chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy sat in a well-worn wingback chair, tucked against the far edge of the parlor. Her slender fingers drummed against the side of a teacup as she watched her son dart through the air on the latest model broomstick. She couldn't remember the name, but she did remember the look on her son's face when he opened the package. The slight widening of his eyes, the curve of his mouth into a subtle smile. Draco had learned long ago to hide how he felt, but there were certain things a mother noticed.

Now that Draco was out of sight of her husband, he held nothing back. Narcissa could see the unadulterated joy on her son's face as he dove down into a spiral that made her stomach pitch with worry before pulling up at the last second to skim the sky. These were the rare moments Narcissa saw her son smile.

The last time she had seen Draco smile—really smile—was when he was 5 years old.

They had been walking through non-magical London when Draco saw her. A muggle child standing outside a book store with her parents. She had brown frizzy hair spilling past slight shoulders and a book clutched against her chest. As if by instinct, Draco's eyes snagged on the girl and he smiled. That was all Narcissa remembered before she saw the book fall to the ground and heard the scream that comes from being bitten. She remembered the look of outrage on the other parents' faces and the horror on her husband's.

"Mine," Draco had said proudly, holding out the other child's arm as proof. Narcissa saw the bond take root. Saw the ragged puncture of each tooth transform into a smooth silver scar. The same kind of scar on her own arm. The muggle girl looked at it curiously before yanking her arm away. Tears were already starting to form in the corners of her eyes.

A dark-haired woman who Narcissa assumed to be the girl's mother crouched down to comfort her. She made shushing noises and lifted a hand to smooth the hair from the girl's face. The father, however, looked torn between comforting his daughter and yelling at the parents responsible. The corner of his mouth twitched as he locked eyes with Lucius.

"Can't you control your son?" As if further proving his point, Draco was now trying to hand the sobbing girl the book she had dropped on the ground. He looked genuinely confused as to why the girl was crying.

"Don't cry," he pleaded, gray eyes shining as though he might start crying himself. "You're supposed to understand. You're meant to be mine."

"We need to get him out of here," Lucius spoke in hushed tones to Narcissa, careful not to let the girl's parents overhear. "He's imprinting."

There were times in Narcissa's life where she had to assess the situation and take control. The day her beautiful baby boy imprinted on a muggle had been one of those days. Narcissa pulled herself to her full height and arranged a smile on her face that almost felt natural after years of practice. Glancing at the mother who she felt would be more receptive, she spoke in the smooth cultured tones one would expect from one of the highest pureblood families.

"I apologize for my son Draco. He's going through a biting phase," she gestured toward the girl. "As a mother, I'm sure you can understand." Now that the girl had stopped crying, the mother had seemed to relax as well.

"You know, I could have sworn your son broke the skin from the way Hermione screamed," the other woman said. "But I can't see any blood."

She gingerly picked up her child's wrist, turning it this way and that in the light looking for breaks in the skin. Narcissa held her breath as the silver mark glinted against the pale tender skin. Maybe muggles couldn't see the mark? She raised an eyebrow at her husband who shrugged.

"As much as I'm sorry for the way my son acted, we really must be on our way." Lucius gaze cut toward his son who had been staring longingly at the girl named Hermione. "Draco, come."

With obvious reluctance, Draco rejoined his parents. However, even as they were walking away, Narcissa noticed Draco glancing at the muggle family until they were out of sight.

The next day, Draco asked her and Lucius when he could see the muggle child again. Lucius paled before pounding his fist on the dining room table.

"I will not have my only child and heir associate with a filthy muggle!" Lucius scowled before rising out of his chair to tower over the boy. "Generations of Malfoys would turn in their graves. Not to mention their portraits would curse you in the hallways."

Draco trained his eyes on the floor as though doing so would make him invisible. Narcissa knew that her son avoided certain hallways because the portraits scared him. Not that she could blame him. Many of the Malfoy ancestors, while pureblood, were uncouth to say the very least.

While Narcissa didn't like it when her husband lost his temper, this was something that needed to happen. She would not have her child imprint on a muggle. It would tarnish the Malfoy name, not to mention her own family of origin.

"But she's mine," her son whispered. "She belongs with me."

Seeing that he was getting nowhere, Lucius leaned heavily on his cane before sinking into the closest chair. He looked tired, as though the years were finally starting to catch up with him.

Later, once Draco was tucked into bed, Lucius confessed that he had no idea how to handle their son.

"I just don't understand why he can't imprint on a nice pureblood girl. It's not as though we don't socialize enough with the other high wizarding families." Lucius glanced at his wife who merely shook her head. Her own silvery scar given to her many moons ago glinted under the lamplight.

"You know that's not how that works," she said. "I seem to remember how relentless you were when we were in school." She ran her thumb over the scar as though out of habit.

"I know a witch," Lucius spoke slowly as though choosing his words carefully. "She's very talented at memory charms. Maybe she could give our son a second chance."

"You mean erase his memory of the girl?" Narcissa was afraid of the thought of letting some strange witch rummage through her son's mind and take what didn't belong to her. But, what choice did they have? If they didn't erase their son's memories quickly, he would eventually give in to his veela instincts and that would mean trouble.

"Okay," Narcissa murmured after some time, leaning into her husband sitting on the couch beside her and closing her eyes. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

The next morning, Lucius scheduled the appointment. The next week, their son forgot all about the girl named Hermione.

Now looking at her 17-year-old son following the breeze on his broomstick she had to wonder how long it would last. She and Lucius both knew there was a mudblood girl named Hermione who attended the same school as their son. She felt certain that it wasn't _his_ Hermione but had no proof.

Either way, Narcissa knew from her own experience that it would only be a matter of time. Draco would find the girl again. He would regain his memory, and this time he wouldn't let her go.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed or followed this story so far. Seeing the notifications in my inbox motivates me to keep writing. For future reference, this story takes place during Draco and Hermione's 7th and final year at Hogwarts. I am writing the story as though Voldemort never returned to power during the 4th year.

~PrettyPumpkin

* * *

He had the dream again. The one with the dark-haired girl he was never close enough to touch. As he ran to meet her, she reappeared on the horizon as through he hadn't moved at all. There always seemed to be several quidditch fields between them.

Tonight, however, the dream was different. When he moved closer she didn't run. Instead, she stood with her back to him absentmindedly rubbing her wrist. Around them was an endless sea of tall grasses that rustled slightly in the wind. It sounded like someone sighing.

"Why?" she said. Her voice trembled slightly.

Why what?" he murmured. While he didn't want to disturb the tenuous peace between them, he had a strong urge to pull her into his arms.

"Why did you forget me?" She turned toward him, but before he could get a look at her face the dream fell apart like a spider thread caught in the breeze.

When Draco woke up, it was with a sense of loss. Instead of holding the literal girl of his dreams, his gaze snagged on a moving poster for one of his favorite Quidditch teams. What he wouldn't have given to hex their smug smiling faces. In that moment, the Egyptian cotton sheets tangled around his legs and the other luxuries of Malfoy Manor were little consolation for a girl he'd never meet.

He had the dream for as long as he could remember. Yet, in all those years he hadn't learned the planes of her face, the sound of her voice, or the way her hair felt between his fingers.

He wondered what was wrong with him that he was so hung up on a girl that didn't exist.

He turned to face the alarm clock he kept by his bed.

5:27am.

This morning he would be going to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies. While he loved his mother, he would be glad to get away from her for a few hours. It seemed like she was watching him more closely now that he was approaching his final year at Hogwarts.

Over the summer, she and his father had invited the Parkinsons, Greengrasses, and even the Bulstrodes to Malfoy Manor. Draco knew that he would be expected to marry. Soon. However, he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that part of his heart belonged to the dark-haired girl. As crazy as that sounded.

Padding across the room to his dresser, he pulled out a pair of thick gray socks to keep his feet warm against the cool marble floors. The sun wouldn't rise for another hour and Draco decided that he would sit in the solarium until it did. In the early morning hours, the mansion was quiet and peaceful.

He didn't get very far down the hallway when he heard a loud crack beside him. It was his mother's personal house elf Hubble.

"Is Master Draco up for the day?" the little elf struggled to keep up with his long strides, a worn pillowcase billowing against her knees. "Hubble can prepare breakfast."

"Tea would be nice," Draco said. "I'll take it in the solarium."

Another loud crack and the house elf was gone, off to fetch his tea and, knowing Hubble, probably some muffins and scones he didn't ask for.

As Draco passed his parent's bedroom, he thought he heard raised voices. His parents rarely fought and he was about to keep walking when he heard his name.

"Draco deserves to know the truth!" The voice belonged to his mother.

He paused, wondering why his parents would be arguing about him. He figured they were probably trying to set him up with another pureblood girl his age.

"Then what, Narcissa? He tries to track down that girl after all this time? It's too risky."

It got quiet again and when Draco could no longer hear his parents' voices through the thick mahogany door he crept past, careful not to make any noise.

Were his parents keeping a secret from him? What girl were they talking about?

Draco thoughts drifted toward the girl in his dreams, but he dismissed that idea almost immediately. The dark-haired girl only existed in Draco's mind. She wasn't real.

When Draco arrived at the solarium, he sank into one of the many plush couches positioned around the perimeter of the room. A steaming cup of tea, along with a tray of assorted muffins, sat on a nearby table.

Through the glass, Draco could make out the vague shapes of shrubs and garden beds.

It wouldn't be long before he'd be scanning the bookshelves at Flourish and Blotts for the textbooks listed in his Hogwarts letter, catching up with old friends, or perhaps even saying a few cutting words to Potty and his gang if they crossed paths.

He heard soft footsteps behind him and thinking that Hubble had returned with more food, he raised his hands as though to ward her off. Instead, he saw both his mother and father standing before him with grave looks on their faces. Draco wondered who died.

"Draco," his father said softly in a way that made Draco more worried than the time he accidently turned all his father's clothes pink as a child. "Your mother and I have something to tell you."

The blond teenager glanced at his mother as though looking for some kind of hint of what to expect, but her face was kept carefully blank.

"Um, sure." Draco said. He shifted on the couch to give his parents room to sit if they chose. While Narcissa sat next to Draco, Lucius remained standing and started to pace around the room. Eventually, he spoke.

"Draco," he said. "Do you know what we are?"

Draco frowned as though confused by the question. It took him a little while to answer on account of him trying to anticipate where his father was taking the conversation.

"We're purebloods, father."

Draco thought he saw the middle-aged man wince slightly.

"It's more complicated than that," Lucius said. "While the Malfoy family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, our bloodline isn't completely pure." He paused as though to gauge Draco's reaction. "To prevent inbreeding, our ancestors paired with the occasional halfblood."

Draco nodded slowly. He already knew that his family wasn't as fanatic about keeping the bloodline pure as the Gaunts, Lestranges, or even the Blacks—his mother's family of origin.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"One of those ancestors was a creature with magical powers." Lucius paused. "A veela."

Draco blanched.

"What do you mean, a veela?" Draco felt as though he was going to be sick. "Do you mean to tell me that one of my great Malfoy ancestors was a mascot for the bloody Bulgarian National Quidditch Team?"

His father continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Veela blood is strong enough to survive several generations. While not much is known about them, the drive to find a mate can become quite strong. In fact," Lucius turned to look his son straight in the eyes, "some people even believe that veela descendants are able to recognize prospective mates who are strong enough to pass on their magical blood."

"No," Draco said, feeling the bile creep up into his throat. He didn't want to believe a single word that came out of his father's mouth. "You're making this up."

"Narcissa," Lucius said wearily before finally sitting in a chair. "Show him the mark."

Nodding, Narcissa pulled back the sleeve of her robe to reveal a smooth silvery scar on her wrist.

While Draco had noticed the scar before, he had never understood the context. Until now.

"You bit her?" Draco's voice rose with worry. He didn't want to be the descendent of a veela if it meant he'd do something as savage as biting someone. Though the idea of marking the dark-haired girl as his gave him a perverse sense of pleasure.

"Sweetheart, we've tried to protect you from the truth," Narcissa reached out and held one of Draco's hands. "But now I'm afraid we made the wrong decision."

"What do you mean?" Draco's pale blond eyebrows furrowed as he turned to look at his mother. "What are you trying to protect me from? Father already told me that I'm part veela. How much worse can it get?"

"You already found your mate when you were 5 years old," his mother said slowly. "And she's a muggle."


	3. Chapter 3

" _Sweetheart, we've tried to protect you from the truth," Narcissa reached out and held one of Draco's hands. "But now I'm afraid we made the wrong decision."_

 _"What do you mean?" Draco's pale blond eyebrows furrowed as he turned to look at his mother. "What are you trying to protect me from? Father already told me that I'm part veela. How much worse can it get?"_

 _"You already found your mate when you were 5 years old," his mother said slowly. "And she's a muggle."_

* * *

"What are you talking about?" Draco removed his hand out of his mother's grasp and rose to his feet. "First you tell me I'm a veela. Now you're saying my supposed mate's a filthy muggle?"

"Draco," his mother's lips were pursed. "Please try to understand. Everything your father and I did was for your own good. For the good of the Malfoy name."

"We always thought you'd imprint on a more suitable mate," his father offered. "But it never happened."

"Is it her?" Draco interrupted. His voice dangerously quiet. "The girl that's been appearing in my dreams all these years?"

"Dreams?" Narcissa eyebrows shot up as she glanced between her son and husband.

"Yes," Lucius said, not looking at his wife. "I was worried that might happen."

"Who is she?" Draco felt the anger bloom in his chest. All these years his parents had kept the veela blood a secret. He wondered if there was anything else they were keeping from him.

"Her name's not important."

Draco matched his father's steely gaze with cool gray eyes of his own. "Like hell."

Narcissa quickly got off the couch, taking long strides toward Draco. Raising her hand as though to caress her son's face she instead brought it down hard. Draco lifted a hand to his face, gently probing the skin and trying to ignore the residual sting.

"You were not raised to show such disrespect." Narcissa's voice had the edge of a razor blade. "Apologize."

Draco was aghast. While strict, his parents had never hit him before.

"Are you freaking kidding me? You've been lying to me my entire life! All this time I thought I was crazy. When really," he paused thinking about the dreams, "I have a mate."

Draco let the word 'mate' roll over his tongue and decided that he liked that word. However, the feeling was quickly tainted by disgust. To think he had even fantasized about how the dark-haired girl lips would feel on his own. He shuddered now at the thought.

"We won't let you pollute the Malfoy bloodline with your selfishness," Lucius spat, the knuckles gripped around his cane turning white. "Generations of pureblood witches and wizards did not build a legacy for you to chase after a mudblood."

Father and son stood a few feet apart, a heartbeat stretched between them as they stared each other down in silence.

In that moment, Draco wanted nothing more than to leave the high ceilings, polished floors, and spacious gardens of Malfoy Manor behind. Away from the heavy words of his parents that still hung in the air like oppressive clouds. Away from the mansion that held so many secrets.

Draco stalked across the room, threw open the door with a slam, and left his parents in his wake.

"Let him be," he heard his mother say. "We've given him a lot to process."

Draco took the quickest path to his bedroom, down the hallway he usually avoided. The walls were filled with Malfoy portraits. He could hear them whispering, which unnerved him on even his best days.

"What's your hurry?" a relative sneered within its frame. The man could have been mistaken as Draco's older brother if it weren't for his startling green eyes and sleeves dripping with lace.

"None of your damn business," Draco said between gritted teeth.

The man in the portrait mimicked a yawn before lounging on the chair set in the background. "What a nasty temper you have," he drawled. "Just like your father."

The portrait would have said more, but Draco had already made it to the end of the hallway. Once in his bedroom, Draco started throwing clothes into his school trunk. He would go to Diagon Alley like he originally planned. Only he wouldn't be returning to Malfoy Manor. Picking up his wallet, he counted his money to make sure he had enough on him to stay at the Leaky Cauldron until school started.

He did.

Along the southern wall of his bedroom was a large fireplace for floo travel. While the Malfoy fireplaces were currently closed to guests, the family could leave any time they pleased. Grabbing a fistful of gritty powder from the vase kept on the fireplace mantle, Draco stepped into the hearth with his school trunk.

"Diagon Alley," Draco said clearly. Despite everything that had happened, he felt a slight twinge of guilt that he was leaving without telling anyone. Not that he'd let a little thing like that stop him.

One minute he was in his childhood bedroom, the next he was standing in the Leaky Cauldron. Since it was so early, the pub was deserted and dimly lit. Chairs were still stacked on top of tables from the previous night.

Draco looked for the front desk of the inn and rang the bell.

No response.

After ringing a second time, a young man with tousled brown hair and a wrinkled shirt emerged.

"Do you know what time it is?" The man behind the desk stifled a yawn. "We're closed."

"Do you have a room available? Last name's Malfoy." Draco was used to getting his way by throwing around the family name. However, the blank look on the man's face said that he obviously didn't keep up with politics inside the Ministry of Magic.

His attitude changed when he saw the galleons Draco pulled from his wallet.

Gaze lingering on the gold coins, the innkeeper arranged a room for the Leaky Cauldron's newest guest.

"Follow me."

Draco followed the man up a twisted set of stairs to a room at the end of the hallway.

"I hope this room is to your liking," the man said before dropping Draco's trunk on the bed. The room was sparse, save for a bed, a dresser that was probably bolted down with magic, and a writing desk in the corner.

"Thanks," Draco said curtly. "That'll be all."

The man nodded before leaving and closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Draco sat down on the edge of the bed, sinking into the too soft mattress. He wondered how long it'd be before his parents would realize he was gone. Most days Draco only saw his parents at meals. Even then, his father was frequently away on business.

Stomach rumbling, Draco realized that in the craziness of finding out he was a veela and bonded to a muggle he hadn't gotten the chance to eat the muffins Hubble brought him. The day had started out so peaceful in the conservatory. Draco wondered where it had all gone wrong, finally deciding after a few minutes that the answer rested 12 years in the past. The day he met her.

Draco wondered who she was and whether she remembered him at all. He let out a gust of air, resting his head between his hands.

Probably not.

When Draco decided it was a reasonable hour to expect breakfast, he went downstairs. While it was still early, a few witches and wizards had straggled into the pub looking for sustenance.

Draco was about to tuck into his plate of bacon and eggs when he noticed a girl his age seated a few tables away. She had built a fortress of books around her, many of which Draco recognized from his Hogwarts list of school supplies. A curtain of brown hair covered her face as she intently read the book in front of her. Her bowl of oatmeal seemed to be long forgotten, sitting next to a stack of books that looked particularly precarious.

There was something about the girl that seemed familiar. When the girl paid for her meal, he realized it was the same voice from his dream last night.

Draco stood so quickly from his table that his tea cup rattled in its saucer. His chest tightened when he realized the girl was none other than Hermione Granger. She glared at him and Draco noticed her fingers twitch toward the wand that lay on the table.

No.

He had to be wrong. There was no way a mudblood like Granger could be his mate.

To Draco's horror, he started to feel lightheaded. As his vision faded to black, he saw Hermione's eyes widen. It was the last thing he saw before he collapsed.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco knew he was dreaming because he was a child again. Across the street, a girl about his age walked with her parents. Mummy said to ignore the muggles, but Draco couldn't help but feel drawn to the dark-haired girl. He felt very sure that this girl was special, he just didn't know how.

While his parents were distracted by a store display, Draco darted across the street.

"Hi, I'm Draco. What's your name?" He noticed the girl clutched the book tighter to her chest.

"Hermione."

Ever since he could remember, Draco had his magic to guide him. As soon as he learned the girl's name and stared into her brown eyes, his magic told him that she was special for a reason he didn't quite understand. His magic also told him that he didn't have much time.

Draco lurched toward the girl, grabbing her wrist and sinking his teeth into the soft skin. He could feel part of his magic flow into the wound, creating a bond that would make her his mate forever.

* * *

Draco could hear voices nearby. He slowly opened his eyes to see Hermione crouching over him murmuring incantations. A small crowd had gathered around them.

She was here. The girl from his dreams. He could see how the years had changed her. The soft curves in her face had receded into a kissable jaw and high cheekbones. Damn his parents. Damn the stupid blood bias. Nothing would ever take her away from him again.

Draco could feel the magic humming in his veins. He wondered why it took so many years to remember the day he met his mate and whether it was more of his parents' doing. The thought stuck to the back of his mind like an unwelcome wad of gum. Along with all the times he had made his mate's life a living hell. That was all going to change.

"It's you," Draco said, possessively curling his fingers around her wrist. He met her startled eyes and said with complete sincerity, "You're the girl from my dreams."

"He must have hit his head hard," he heard a voice off to the side followed by a round of laughter. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw guests starting to drift back to their tables. But the only person Draco cared about was right in front of him. The young witch in question tugged her wrist out of his grasp and narrowed her eyes.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing Malfoy. But you can stop now."

"Do you remember?" Draco interrupted, flooded with a desperate need to know. "Do you remember that day in front of the book store?"

Hermione scooted away from him, brushing the dust off her pants before standing up.

"We would have been about 5 years old," Draco prompted eagerly, not willing to let it go.

Hermione fixed him with a glare. "Enough. I remember every time you called me a mudblood. Every time you hurt me or my friends with your cruel jokes." Her voice shook with anger and Draco's heart broke a little. "As for your question, thank God I didn't have the misfortune of knowing you before Hogwarts." With that, she turned and walked back to her table. With a flick of her wand she swiftly packed all her books into an enchanted crossbody bag and left the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Draco on the ground feeling like an idiot.


	5. Chapter 5

"Un-freaking believable," Hermione muttered under her breath as she winded her way through the crowds of Diagon Alley. To think she had rushed to Draco's side after he collapsed. It wasn't that she cared about that git. It was just against her nature to ignore someone who needed help. In fact, Hermione had just recently started considering a career in healing.

With her parents gone to a dentists' convention, she was on her own this year to get school supplies. Fortunately, she was almost done with her list. She was just biding her time until she could meet up with Harry, Ron, and Ginny before school started.

She couldn't understand what Draco had meant about a bookstore. The first time she had met Draco it had been during her first year at Hogwarts. Surely, she would have remembered someone as rude as him.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize someone was calling her name. She felt a hand on her arm and she spun around half expecting it to be Draco. It wasn't.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Ginny Weasley frowned slightly. "I called your name a bunch of times, but you ignored me."

"Sorry," Hermione said, adjusting the strap on her crossbody bag. "I've been kind of lost in my thoughts."

"About what?" Ginny moved to Hermione's side and they began to walk at a leisurely pace. They passed plenty of storefronts filled with herbs, cauldrons, books, and other magical artifacts. The bustle of the crowd did nothing to soothe Hermione's jangled nerves.

When Hermione stayed quiet, Ginny looked thoughtful for a minute directing her gaze to the sky. Her auburn hair glinted in the early morning light. "Is it about a guy?"

"No."

Hermione knew that she had answered too fast because Ginny's face cracked into a wide grin. The young witch nudged her gently with her elbow.

"That was just a little _too_ adamant," Ginny teased. Her brown eyes alight with humor. "So, who is it?"

"It's not what you think," Hermione said. "It's about Draco."

"Ugh," Ginny smile was quickly replaced with a scowl. "What does that creep want?"

Hermione told her about Draco collapsing in The Leaky Cauldron and about how he insisted that they knew each other before Hogwarts.

"Apparently, he seems to think we met in front of a bookstore when we were 5 years old."

"And what do you think?" Ginny stopped walking to inspect a tub of magical toffees that claimed to turn your hair a deep indigo, violet, and other vibrant hues. She glanced at Hermione under a rim of lashes. "Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"I doubt it, but what I can't understand are his motives."

"You don't need a motive to be a git," Ginny gave a few coins to the stall owner and received a fistful of toffees. "I wouldn't waste any more time worrying about someone like that."

Wanting to change the subject, Hermione asked, "Where's Ron and Harry? Shouldn't they be with you?"

"Oh, they were too busy drooling over the Firebolt 3000." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Typical boys."

They continued their stroll down Diagon Alley, but Hermione couldn't forget the almost desperate edge to Draco's questions. What had unnerved her the most was the intense look in his eyes when he told her she was the girl from his dreams. What the hell did _that_ mean? She figured it was just Draco coming up with unique ways to torture her.

When they reached Quality Quidditch Supplies they could see a crowd around the display case. A large sign overhead told passersby that the Firebolt 3000 was now available for sale. It wasn't long before she recognized her other two best friends. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest as Ron's blue eyes tore from the display case to look at her, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin.

"Mione!" He was one of the few people in the world who got to call her that.

With a few long strides he was by her side and pulling her into a hug. It had been months since they had seen each other. When he pulled away, she was sure her face matched his hair.

Hermione had recently felt like their relationship teetered on the edge of being something more. They had been friends since childhood, yet ever since the Yule Ball during their fourth year she had started to feel nervous around him. It was something that Harry and Ginny had noticed and teased about on occasion.

There was a certain brightness in Harry's eyes that suggested that he was going to tease her about her tomato-red face, but Hermione narrowed her eyes. Taking the hint, Harry darted to his girlfriend's side as though for protection and threaded his fingers with hers. Ron, of course, was oblivious to it all. As soon as he let go of Hermione, he started talking about the capabilities of the Firebolt 3000. Hermione was beginning to think it was all a lost cause. She unconsciously rubbed her wrist.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a familiar figure enter the shop. He skirted the edge of the crowd and disappeared into an aisle stocked with broomstick servicing kits. She recognized the white blonde hair and emerald cloak as belonging to Draco Malfoy. Was he following her?

Just then Hermione saw a flash of what could only have been a memory—or at least the fragment of one. She was crying on the sidewalk while a boy with pale blond hair pleaded with her. He held her book in his hands, a hardcover collection of fairy tales she had adored and carried with her everywhere like a security blanket.

"Will you excuse me for a second?" she said to Ron, who was in the middle of reciting some trivia about the new broom. Hermione had never been very interested in Quidditch. She preferred to keep both her feet on the ground, thank you very much.

With purpose, Hermione stalked toward the aisle she had last seen Draco. She saw him browsing near the end of the aisle, trailing long pale fingers along a row of boxes. For the briefest of moments, she wondered what those fingers would feel like tracing patterns on her bare skin and startled to think that such a thought could enter her mind at a time like this. She thought she saw Draco smirk, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"What do you want?" Draco leaned against the shelf and did his best to look bored. However, Hermione noticed that his eyes seemed to burn a little hotter, like molten silver. She rubbed her wrist again and Draco's eyes caught the movement, missing nothing.

"Your wrist bothering you Granger?"

"It's nothing," Hermione said. "Just a little carpal tunnel."

Draco remained impassive, his gaze still captured by her wrist. Wanting to change the subject, she said something she knew would grab his attention.

"I remember the bookstore."

Shock, then excitement, then apprehensive crossed his features. He shifted and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"How _much_ do you remember?"

"How much do I _need_ to remember?" Hermione shot back.

Draco sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "This is delicate stuff Granger. I can't just tell you all that happened because I'm afraid you might blow up at me or worse."

"Fine," Hermione snapped, growing tired of their conversation. "I remember we were standing on the sidewalk and you had my book of fairytales. You were trying to get me to stop crying."

"And?" Draco prompted. His voice was soft and vulnerable as though the 5-year-old boy was still standing in front of her.

"That's all I remember." She watched his face fall ever so slightly and felt her heart twinge a bit in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to _him_?" Hermione turned around and saw Ron approaching them.

Seeing Ron, what little vulnerability between them evaporated. As Hermione watched his expression turn into a smirk, she wondered how much of the real Draco hid behind a wall of arrogance.

"That's none of your business Weasel" Draco drawled. Hermione watched as Ron's face turned an unpleasant shade of red. "It's not as though Granger's your girlfriend."

"That's enough Malfoy," Hermione said. Turning to Ron, she grabbed one of his arms and tried to drag him down the aisle. After a couple of tugs, he followed. Glancing over her shoulder, she thought she saw a veil of sadness cover Draco's eyes.

What was Draco not telling her? She decided she would make it her mission to find out.


	6. Chapter 6

"Why are you defending him?"

Hermione had tried to dodge Ron's questions as they walked from Quality Quidditch Supplies to Flourish and Blotts but was quickly running out of patience.

"I'm not." Hermione glanced over at Harry and Ginny as though for support, but they were too wrapped up in each other's presence to notice. She looked back at Ron, the boy—now young man—who she had known since childhood. Standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, he seemed so strong and dependable. The hard edge to his jaw told her that he wasn't dropping the issue anytime soon. She wondered when it was that he had grown up. That they had all grown up. She let out a sigh and hugged her arms around her middle.

"I'm just saying that maybe you shouldn't just assume that Draco's up to something."

A strong wind gust blew her hair in front of her face and Ron half lifted his arm as though to brush it away. Awkwardly, he held his arm suspended between them for a few heartbeats before dropping it to his side.

Their friendship had been recently strained by a new type of awareness. While she had witnessed romance bloom between Harry and Ginny, she wasn't sure that what she had with Ron was the same. She loved Ron as a friend but wouldn't compare it to the fairy tales she had read as a child. She wondered if Ron would ever be that kind of man for her. Ever practical, Hermione supposed that maybe such a love didn't exist outside the covers of a book.

"Malfoy has always been up to something as long as we've been in school." Ron sighed heavily and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his sweater. "I just want you to be careful is all."

Hermione nodded, relieved to see that he wasn't going to push for more information. She wasn't sure how much Ron had overheard and didn't want to share what was happening between her and Draco until she knew more herself.

"I will." She paused, noticing the way his muscles still seemed tense. A crease formed between his eyebrows. "And you don't need to worry. I can take care of myself."

"I know that." Ron shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Just… don't feel like you have to confront Malfoy about anything by yourself. He's dangerous."

"He's a bully Ronald. Dangerous, but a coward when alone. Besides, I don't plan on talking to Draco again anytime soon if I can help it."

Suddenly feeling nervous, she toed a small pebble that lay beside the road. Her gazed trained on the ground, she said, "But thank you anyways. You're a good friend."

A bit of color flooded Ron's cheeks and he cleared his throat.

Looking around, he said, "I'd like to know where Harry and Ginny went. They better not have snuck off to snog. I'd like to get our school books before the shop closes." His gaze settled on Hermione. "Do you need anything from Flourish and Blotts?"

Hermione gestured to her bag. "No, books were the first thing I got."

Ron chuckled softly to himself. "Should have figured."

Only a few moments later, Ginny and Harry emerged from the crowd of passing shoppers.

"Oi," Ron said. "Where did you guys sneak off to? We were worried."

Ginny put her hands on her hips. "Oh my gosh Ron, we were only gone for a minute. Relax."

Harry lifted the bag he was holding. "Sorry mate, I saw some chocolates I thought Lupin would like." Ron seemed to visibly relax and Hermione did her best to suppress a smile. She realized that while Ron and Harry were best friends, Ginny was still very much Ron's little sister.

When the four teenagers finally entered the bookshop, there was just as much chaos as there had been in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Part of Hermione's heart ached for the loss of silence. To her, bookstores were like churches. Places that should be filled with reverent silence. There was nothing she liked more than to curl up with a good book.

Today, the store was a zoo and the main attraction was the book signing near the checkout counter. Heading in the opposite direction, Hermione had the luxury of scanning titles for whatever held her interest. She quickly had a small stack in her hands when Ginny appeared by her side.

"I leave you alone for a minute and you're already raiding the bookstore." Ginny tucked a long strand of red hair behind her ear. "Need help carrying those?" she said teasingly.

A small smile tugged at the edges of Hermione's lips. "I'm not buying _all_ of them. I'm just looking."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You look like you're doing a lot more than that." Her eyes widened when she saw some of the titles.

"Are you thinking of becoming a healer?"

Hermione nodded, looking over the books in her arms that promised to teach readers how to identify healing herbs, treat wounds, and cure illnesses. "Guilty. But, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Both my parents are dentists."

"Ah," Ginny grinned. "Understood." As they trailed toward the checkout with their books Ginny asked if she managed to resolve things with her brother.

"I did," Hermione said, then lowered her voice. "I would appreciate it though if you didn't tell Ron or Harry about what happened at The Leaky Cauldron. There's no point in making a big deal out of nothing."

"You sure?" Ginny suddenly looked worried. "What if it's not nothing?"

"Everything will be fine," Hermione said as soothingly as she could to the red-haired teenager. "Draco will move on to mess with someone else. And when he does, he'll forget all about me."

True to Hermione's word, the next few days passed uneventfully. Hermione hadn't seen Draco since Quality Quidditch Supplies. However, she felt a sense of uneasiness she couldn't explain. Almost as though there was something important brewing just underneath the surface.


End file.
